


One More Once

by SerenadeStrong (ninja_orange)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 19:45:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16708870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninja_orange/pseuds/SerenadeStrong
Summary: Sometimes you just can't fulfill a promise, but sometimes that's okay.





	One More Once

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh finally I remembered to upload this! Happy turkey day in the US. Is this a bad day to upload fic? Maybe you're stuck with relatives you don't get along with and you'd rather read some cute and fluffy Phichit/Chris?? 
> 
> This was written for the YoI Rare Pairs on Ice Zine (https://yoirarepairzine.tumblr.com/)! For more info about the zine and to see other pieces, check out the tumblr ^^

The Olympic village was a rotating program of parties as each group finished competing and finally let loose. The skaters were no exception, and after the men’s medal ceremony, Chris went looking for wherever the loudest noises were coming from. Pairs had finished the day before, and it looked like the last dregs of their party had become the beginnings of the men’s party tonight. 

Chris pushed his way into the crowded suite. There weren’t that many people, but the space was small and the air was overheated and humid with so many bodies moving together. The lights inside were off but the high-powered street lights cast everything in a harsh blue-white glow. He’d won silver, again (he wasn’t at all bitter about that), and the medal was tucked in a sock at the bottom of his suitcase back in his own room. Gold glinted in the corner of his eye; he saw Katsuki leaning against a wall, his gold medal around his neck and his ring catching the light from the window. Victor was hovering around him, practically drooling. Chris smirked; those two would be having fun tonight for sure. 

Working his way further into the room he found Phichit, who lit up when he spotted Chris. He excused himself from his conversation with a woman from a Canadian pairs team and slipped over to Chris’s side. 

“Good skate tonight!” he yelled over loud music and the noise from the crowd. 

“Thanks, you too!” Chris yelled back. Phichit’s program had been as fun and lighthearted as they always were and his skating had been solid, though he hadn’t made the podium.

Phichit shrugged off the compliment. He pushed closer and pulled Chris down with an arm around his shoulders so he could talk in Chris’s ear without yelling so loudly. “You’re the one who should be celebrating! Another Olympic medal!” His breath tickled across Chris’s skin, making him shiver. Chris wound his arms around Phichit’s waist and nosed at the soft skin by his earlobe. 

“You want to help with that celebration?” Chris murmured. It may have been too soft for Phichit to hear the words, even as close as they were, but he certainly understood the intent. Phichit’s arm pulled tighter and he pressed himself body to body against Chris, letting him feel every bit of warmth he had to offer, his soft skin and hard body. 

“It would be my pleasure,” he said.

~*~

Afterward they lay in bed together, both comfortably naked, Phichit pillowing his cheek on Chris’s chest.

“I might not compete much next year,” Phichit told him quietly. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. Phichit had never had a breakout year internationally, and he had always had plans past competition. But Chris was surprised that the words hurt to hear. He hugged Phichit to him, nuzzled his hair. He didn’t know what to say, but he hoped Phichit knew that he had Chris’s support and encouragement, whatever he planned for himself. 

There was a few moments of melancholic silence before Phichit broke it with a soft sigh.

“Will you come visit me next year?” Phichit asked.

“Of course I will, _Petit_ ,” Chris said, and squeezed him tighter.

~*~

Christophe had every intention of following through, too, but then a few weeks into the season he landed badly on a box jump in the gym, fell off the box, and broke his foot.

“I wasn’t even on the ice,” he sobbed to Victor later. “I got taken out by a box!”

He was lying on his couch after his foot had been pushed back together and a cast put on, thinking about his future, and if he’d have one. The doctor and his coach both said the break should heal well, but it would be weeks before he would be able to walk comfortably, and longer before he would be able to skate again. Careers had ended for less than this. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to think of something else. The painkillers were keeping him from caring about how much it hurt, but they also kept him too woozy to focus on anything properly distracting.

There wasn’t anything worth watching on TV, he’d already responded to his friends sending “get well soon” on Twitter and Instagram. He flipped through his apps again, just for something to do, and wound up on Snapchat. 

He took a picture of his foot, captioned it “Ow :(” and posted it to his story.

Then he turned the camera around for a selfie. He looked pretty terrible. His hair was wilting, he was in his oldest pajamas, and he hadn’t shaved in days. He took a photo anyway, also captioned it “Ow :(” and sent it to Phichit. 

Chris liked Phichit. He liked Phichit a lot. That was about as complex as his thoughts would get right now, between the drugs and the distant pain in his foot. Phichit was nice. He had fun. Sometimes it was in a different way than how Chris had fun (Chris had the most fun when he was naked), but he was always so... So. He was so nice.

His phone vibrated.

Phichit had sent back a selfie with some kind of bear filter over it, and a sad emoji sticker. “miss u,” it said. Christophe stared at it until it disappeared, then drifted off to sleep.

~*~

Healing a broken foot wasn’t any more fun once he was allowed to walk, and it barely improved when he could finally hit the ice again. Chris was out of competition for the foreseeable future. He hadn’t seen any of his friends in months. In fact he’d barely seen anything besides his apartment, his rink, and the path between them. The worst part was since his international season was kaput and he’d been unable to get more sponsor money without being able to skate, he couldn’t afford extravagances like plane tickets to Thailand.

When he’d told Phichit he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise this year, Phichit had been nothing but understanding. “You need to heal!” he’d told Chris fervently over their Facetime call. “Come on, I’ll skate you around the rink, it’ll be just like you’re here,” he’d said, and then taken his phone with him as he’d cut across the ice and into a little jump. Chris had laughed and laughed. It had been the best he’d felt in weeks. But then it had ended with Phichit leaning against the boards of a rink in Thailand and Chris on his couch in Switzerland, foot elevated, and a long week of PT and rehab skates ahead of him. He’d had to say goodbye in a rush, not wanting Phichit to see the pain on his face as reality came back up to meet him. 

That was exactly a week ago now, Chris thought, as he skated in slow circles, first one way, then the other. Sticking to the basics was its own kind of pain. His foot was feeling better but the PT emphasized pushing his recovery could ultimately take years off his career, and Chris wasn’t willing to take chances. So he had no jumps, no footwork. Just carefully keeping his muscles active, making sure his balance on each edge was recovering. At the far end of the rink a pairs couple was practicing, both of them picking up speed and then leaping and spinning together, and Chris had to fight the urge to follow their lead and throw himself into a real routine. 

He finished the half hour he paid for and skated to the break in the boards nearest the locker room. Someone was leaning by the gap, watching the skaters. Chris ignored him as he got off the ice, but then something clicked as he wiped snow off his blades and he nearly fell over as he looked up again.

“Phichit!” he cried out, not quite believing what he was seeing. 

Phichit laughed. He looked right at home in black sweatpants and a large down coat, relaxed and comfortable like picking Chris up at the rink was part of his everyday routine. 

“Surprise!” he said, holding his arms out for a hug. 

Christophe broke out of his shock enough to grab him, wrapping his arms tight around Phichit’s shoulders and burying his face in the other man’s hair. Wearing his skates made their height difference more pronounced, but they fit together just as well this way, with Phichit happily nuzzling against Chris’s chest. 

“What are you doing here?” Chris asked, standing back just enough to see Phichit’s face again. 

“You couldn’t come to me, so,” Phichit shrugged and smiled up at Chris. “Ta-da!”

“ _Petit_ ,” Chris said, his eyes threatening to tear up. He wiped his hand across them hastily. “The air is so dry in here,” he muttered, and bent down to capture Phichit’s lips in a kiss. Phichit returned it enthusiastically, his hands clinging to Chris’s shoulders. Chris suddenly regretted the height difference - bending down that far wasn’t comfortable - but getting his hands under Phichit’s ass and hauling him up until he could wrap his legs around Chris’s waist fixed that. Phichit squeaked into the kiss when Chris lifted him up, then pulled away to tell Chris to put him down. 

“You’ll hurt your foot again,” he chided. “And anyway I’d rather have you horizontal.”

“What an excellent idea,” Chris agreed cheerfully. He grabbed another quick kiss from Phichit, then put him down and rushed off to change. For the first time since his injury he was actually looking forward to some quality time on the couch, and he couldn’t wait to get home.


End file.
